


Fake ID

by vsonics



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:44:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vsonics/pseuds/vsonics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has been watching across the bar at some guy frown into his beer for like an hour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fake ID

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fan fiction I've ever published. I don't really know what I'm doing. I just wanted Derek being an uncomfortable dork.  
> So yeah.

There’s an attractive guy sitting at the bar, frowning. He’s not frowning the whole time, which Stiles knows because he’s watching him. He’s frowning occasionally, a sort of scowly eyebrow thing, down at his drink, in between flashing a really beautiful smile at people, nodding along in all the right places, practically charming the pants off of them. And then when they walk away or, occasionally, just look away, the guy glances down at his drink and scowls in a way that isn’t angry, like Stiles originally thought it was, but intensely self-critical and uncomfortable. He’s clearly trying to be the friendly cool kid in the bar but just as clearly (if you’re watching as close as Stiles has been watching, anyway) does not realize how much he’s succeeding. Stiles practically expects him to start muttering under his breath about what a social reject he is. If this were a sitcom, the guy would have a best friend next to him for to mutter these things at. As is, the guy is sitting there by himself holding onto the same half-full beer he’s had for over an hour and not realizing just how much he really is fooling everyone around him into thinking he has social capabilities. 

Stiles has been watching him for as long as he’s had the beer. He waits a few minutes more, really enjoying himself as the guy bumbles through introductions with a leggy blonde that introduces herself as Jeanie. Jeanie is laying it on a bit thick, clearly waiting for some kind of invitation to dance or maybe just go back to his apartment. After a few minutes when no invitation of any kind comes, she says she says something about getting back to her friends and slips away. She deflates as she goes, shrugging helplessly at where her group of friends has been watching rapturously across the bar. Caught up in their own sympathy for Jeanie’s defeat, none of the girls seem to notice that the guy at the bar does the exact same, goes back to frowning into his beverage. By that point, however, Stiles has slipped into the seat next to him. 

“Hey,” he says, offering his most charming grin. The bar guy glances up, a little surprised, mirrors one back to him. God, fake or no, he has a nice smile. Stiles falters for just a fraction of a second, finds himself really tempted to let his smile get a little less charming and a little more dangerous, lean back into a bit of a shrug, look the guy over and say “you wanna get out of here?” 

Instead he stays upright and friendly, still except for his fingers which tap a staccato beat on the bar. 

“Hey,” the guy says back, friendly but a little guarded. About what Stiles had expected. 

“Sorry to bug you, I left my phone back at my place. You wouldn’t happen to have the time, would you? And maybe, like, a buck I can get change from? They still have a phone booth back by the toilets, you wouldn’t believe it,” he says, keeping his smile warm. 

The guy relaxes just slightly, looks a little relieved. Or maybe disappointed, but Stiles has always been a strong wishful thinker. 

“Yeah,” he says, clears his throat, nods, repeats himself. “Yeah.” As he does this he both glances down as his watch – it’s a nice watch – and reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his wallet and removes a dollar bill.

“It’s half past eleven,” he tells Stiles as he hands him the money. 

Stiles takes it gratefully. “You are a gentleman and a saint. I really appreciate it, thanks.” He gives the guy a sort of half salute, something that embarrasses him as soon as he’s done it. Not that he needs to worry. Bar guy looks a bit embarrassed himself now, as Stiles takes the money and then stands up, nods again before heading back towards the bathrooms. 

He doesn’t bother to exchange the bill for quarters, doesn’t even stop at the phone next to the men’s room. As a matter of fact, he’s pretty sure the phone isn’t even connected anymore. Instead he goes straight for the door marked ‘EXIT,’ strolls right on out of the mildly smoky bar – which is ridiculous, because it isn’t even legal to smoke in bars anymore. The smell just must be imprinted in the walls or something. 

Once outside he leans against the back wall, admires his spoils. 

The watch, now on his own wrist, really is nice. He pulls the wallet out of his back pocket, briefly looks through it too – at least a hundred bucks, nice. He checks the ID, too, out of idle curiosity. It says Derek Hale on it. Stiles nods, matches the name with the face. Derek. He’s not smiling in the picture on the ID which, actually, feels a little fake in Stiles’ hands. He frowns, takes a closer look at it. Strange, ‘cause “Derek” sure as hell wasn’t some teenager unable to buy a beer on his own – with that scruff Stiles highly doubts they would have carded him even if this was the kind of establishment where people were carded. He takes a closer look at it – seems pretty legit, except for the cheap feeling of the laminate and some kind of warping like shitty photoshop over Derek’s eyes. 

Stiles shrugs, slides the ID back into its appropriate slot, pockets the cash, drops the whole thing in the dumpster as he walks around the side.

Real pity about the photo. The guy did have very pretty eyes.


End file.
